What I Am Told

What I am told. But what I am told is built on a canvas of lies. So, what should I believe when my belief is shaped by what I am told? What I am told, and I say that that is so even when what I am told is not possible for me to know. Believing in the scarcely credible is giving yourself false confidence, and the unlikely to be true is what I am told that I should know. I open my heart and empty my mind so that what cannot be verified I can accept without the handicap of a questioning mind. What I am told is what I do not need to know if it is not realistic, or does not make sense, and is not uplifting and enlightening. So, what am I to believe when what I am told is designed to make a fool of me? Empty is the head that has a mind that refuses to think for itself. Where any and everything can be dumped into a hallow shell and find comfort within it. It is not about the truth; it is about what I am told; which, is its own unreal reality. What I am told goes into one nostril and comes out of my behind. Yet what I am told is the foundation of my beliefs. A fantasy foundation that crumbles under scrutiny and falls apart in the slightest breeze. What I am told is impossible to know without having the faith to believe that it is so, and faith without knowledge is like a shadow that appears without any light to produce it. So, what I am told I believe by faith without proof or knowledge. I feel the warmth of life when I am in her arms. She is strong. She is beautiful. I do not need faith to know what I know about her. What I am told has nothing to do with her because I know that she is the woman for me. The empty head is filled by her presence, and all my questions are answered by her touch. I know this without being told when I look into the smile for me that is in her eyes. What I am not being told, I know for sure. That her dark brown skin makes my dark brown skin tingle. That yes and no means yes and no. That the reality of she and I are the reality of nature as it is meant to be. What I am told is that I should live in an illusionary world of shadows and that I should make this fantasy my reality. What I am told is that I should adjust my life to conform to someone else's standards and not even try to create quality standards of my own. This is what I am told, and to what I am told, I say no. But what am I except a breath away from death? That my thoughts and feelings are like falling leaves that have no place to rest. One moment is all moments, this I know to be so without being told as I hear and feel the fragility of my heart beating. My path is defined by her outstretched hands beckoning me to her. In my mind, I have no mind that is apart from hers. That which I tell myself is all that I need to know about her, and what I know is good for me. Darkness is the path to perfect blackness, and perfect blackness is the cosmos singing in harmony. I live. I die. I die. I live. As one is the same as the other. And so I kiss her hands, and I kiss her feet because what I am told cannot compare to this.

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